Hesitation
by Revhead
Summary: It is the responsibility of the strong to defend the weak. So says the knight's code, and so says Arthur. But one powerful individual has hesitated to do so, and he can't any longer. It's time to tell the truth, and accept the consequences.


**Hesitation**

"Arthur, can I talk to you?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the hesitant question from his servant. "I have been bed ridden for two days, Merlin. All I have been _doing_ is listening to you talk."

Appearing chagrined, Merlin dipped his head in silent apology and returned to scrubbing down the walls.

Arthur watched him, feeling the slightest pang of what was most certainly _not_ guilt as he remembered throwing the full goblet of pain-relieving potion at Merlin in a fit of frustration. It had struck the wall instead (less because Merlin had ducked and more because Arthur's aim was apparently suffering as much as the rest of him), necessitating this particular clean up. The outburst had been undeserved, coming more from a place of Arthur hating his own weakness than any feeling of irritation toward his servant.

Merlin had actually been a steady support over the past few days. He was still doing all the duties normally required of him, as well taking on the additional work involved with caring for Arthur while Gaius was busy elsewhere. He was changing his bandages, ensuring that he drank his potions, helping him shift position when he became too sore and all the while keeping up a stream of cheerful chatter to take Arthur's mind off his current condition. Merlin had put up with his moods and his tempers and his complaints with a patience and gentle understanding that Arthur had not known he was capable of before now. His concern was so obviously genuine that, when Arthur wasn't too caught up in his troubles, it touched him deeply – even if he would never admit that out loud.

So when he saw the disappointment in Merlin's eyes, which was emphasised by the pervasive quite he maintained for ten full minutes, Arthur felt… uncomfortable. Whatever Merlin had wanted to say, he had probably been working himself up to it for a while. It was probably important to him, but Arthur had just shut him down.

He sighed. "What is it, Merlin?"

"Nothing, sire," Merlin lied, not even turning around. The tension in his shoulders suggested that he had changed his mind, but now that Arthur had resigned himself to hearing him out he was not going to be satisfied with anything less than a full explanation.

"I'm bored, Merlin. I could use some of your useless prattle to help pass the time."

"I wouldn't want to bore you any more, sire," he said, and there was a hint of coolness in his tone. "Besides, it doesn't really matter."

"Don't make me throw something at you," Arthur threatened, although the closest object to hand was a soft pillow and his aim was appalling at the moment – both facts that his servant was no doubt aware of. "Just tell me."

Merlin shrugged self-consciously, but he did abandon his cloth and bucket to come and stand by the bed.

A few moments passed, in which Merlin shifted awkwardly and Arthur withheld an impatient sigh.

"Well?"

"I was just thinking about something Percival said."

If Arthur had been capable of moving on his own he would have pretended to fall off the bed in shock at Merlin's pronouncement. "Percival _said_ something? And you were _thinking_? Is the world going to end?"

Merlin didn't respond with the usual banter, he just stared at his shoes, so Arthur relented.

"What did he say?"

"I asked him why he fought. I mean, I know what happened to his family, and I know that he has been seeking revenge against Cenred and his men ever since. But as one of your knights, he isn't just fighting Cenred anymore. Percival has been in battles against other enemies, risking his life time and again in Camelot's defence, and I wanted to know why. So I asked him."

"And you got a response?" Arthur quipped. When it came to talking, Percival was Gwaine's complete opposite. He only seemed to speak when he thought it was necessary, and his words were always careful and considered.

Merlin nodded slowly. "He said that his strength was a gift not granted to many, and that it was the responsibility of the strong to defend the weak." He looked at Arthur. "Do you believe that?"

It was a strange question, and Arthur did not know why Merlin was asking it now, but he could see no harm in answering truthfully. "Yes, of course I do. It is part of the knight's code. 'Thou shalt respect all those whom are weak, the poor and the innocent, and shalt constitute thyself the defender of them.' It is even more important to me as the Crown Prince of Camelot, because I have more power than any of my subjects but I know that it is my duty to use that power to protect them."

There was a slight glow of what might have been admiration in Merlin's eyes, but his expression remained serious. "Do you think that is true of all forms of power? That they should be used to protect others who are not so fortunate to be blessed with such power?"

"Yes."

"And what would you think of someone," Merlin asked, and although Arthur had not thought it possible his face grew still more serious, as though something terribly important hinged on this conversation, "who had great power, but hesitated to use it?"

"I would think that they were a coward," Arthur answered.

The look in those blue eyes was so intense that Arthur had trouble looking away. "And if, as a result of their hesitation, someone they could have saved was instead killed as they watched?"

Arthur frowned darkly at the thought of any of his knights failing to protect an innocent in such a manner. "The death would be on their head. It would be a stain on their nobility and honour forever. If one of my men were to do such a thing, they would be stripped of their knighthood instantly and sent away from Camelot in disgrace."

Merlin nodded, and said nothing more, losing himself in thought.

"Merlin?" Arthur prodded, deeply unsettled by the course this talk had taken. He tried to sit up, but pain shot through his body and he collapsed back with a gasp.

"How many times, Arthur?" Merlin chided absently, but rather than telling him – again – that he was supposed to lie down and rest, Merlin gently helped him into a sitting position and propped cushions behind him to act as support and keep him upright without any effort on his part.

The waves of pain were slow to fade, but Arthur managed to get his breathing under control and focus once more on the conversation that had seemed to come out of nowhere.

"Merlin? Do you know someone who has acted dishonourably?"

A pause, and then Merlin gave a reluctant nod.

Arthur's felt a flare of anger in his gut. "Who?"

Merlin looked away.

He was a loyal friend, Arthur knew, and he wouldn't want to betray someone close to him. But this was important. "Merlin-"

"It was me."

Arthur's mouth was left hanging open as he tried to process what his servant had just said, and then he laughed.

"_Mer_lin, don't be such an idiot. We were talking about the responsibility of power, if you remember, and no offence, but you do not _have_ any power."

Merlin just looked at him in that same, disconcertingly solemn manner. "I hesitated when we were attacked by those bandits a few days ago," he said. "You looked at me, and I hesitated. I am the reason you were almost killed."

Arthur sighed in exasperation. So that was what this was about. Merlin was feeling guilty and inadequate.

"Merlin, what happened to me out there was not your fault. What were you supposed to have done? You had no armour, no weapons, and you were too far away to reach me in time anyway."

"I could have saved you," Merlin insisted. "But I hesitated because I was too much of a coward to do what I had to. If the blow had killed you, your death would have been on my head."

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," Arthur said, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "I know you think you have to protect me, but out of the two of us I am the one with the power. I'm much stronger than you are, and I fight far better than you do. Therefore, if anything, I am the one who is duty bound to protect _you._"

"You're wrong."

Merlin said it with such certainty that Arthur was rather taken aback. "Excuse me?"

"You're wrong," he repeated, with not a hint of remorse or joviality. "You're not the one with the power. I am."

Arthur wanted to laugh. What Merlin had just said was so ridiculous that it was funny. He should have been laughing. But somehow he couldn't. There was something in Merlin's eyes. A fierce determination. A blazing truth.

"There is something I have to tell you, Arthur. And it isn't going to be easy for you to hear. But I need you to just stay quiet and hear me through, because this is important. Can you do that?"

Arthur wanted to scoff. Merlin was quiet when Arthur ordered him to be, and it did _not_ work the other way around. But for some reason, Arthur didn't say anything. He nodded.

The relief on Merlin's face warred with some other emotion. It might have been fear.

"I can't do this anymore," Merlin said finally. "I can't keep hesitating at the crucial moments and risking the lives of the people I care about. I can't keep holding back just because I am afraid what people will think of me... and of what you will do to me. I can't keep lying and pretending to be someone I'm not. I can't keep letting people get hurt or killed when I know I can save them. Arthur, I can't _live_ like this anymore. I can't live with _myself_ anymore. Not without telling you. And believe me, it scares me to death, but I've been a coward long enough. I have to tell you."

_Tell me what?_ Arthur questioned silently, but he couldn't get the words past his lips. Because a part of him was scared of what Merlin might say. As though a part of him already knew.

Merlin took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bracing himself. When he opened them again, his expression was blank.

"I am magic, Arthur."

The world stopped.

Arthur's breathing stopped.

There was a roaring in his ears, and he very nearly passed out. But passing out wasn't a very prince-like thing to do, so he stubbornly refused to let it happened.

His brain reeled in shock, until he finally realised.

It was a joke. It had to be a joke.

A harsh laugh exploded out of him, and then he found he couldn't stop. The joke wasn't even funny. Not remotely. Merlin's sense of humour had always been appalling, but this was a terrible thing to try to joke about. If he had tried it in front of Uther, the king would have had him executed on the spot. But the idea of Merlin having magic was just so preposterous that-

And then he saw it.

Merlin held out his hand, palm up, and muttered a word that Arthur didn't recognise.

His eyes flashed gold.

And a small ball of flame erupted into existence, writhing and twisting an inch above his palm.

Magic.

_Magic._

_MAGIC?_

"I told you," Merlin said calmly, flatly. He was unconcerned by the fire that should have burned his hand to a blackened crisp by now. "But you never listen to me. So I had to show you, too. I am magic, Arthur."

Arthur stared at his servant, unable to even comprehend what he was feeling in that moment. Shock and horror stood out in prominence, but the sickening, slimy feeling of realising he had been betrayed by someone he had trusted above all others clawed up his throat.

He wanted to vomit. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to go back in time and prevent Merlin from ever confessing.

He wanted to kill him.

What should have been a roar of pure fury came out more choked and broken than he intended, but the rage was still there and it powered his movements. He struggled to escape from the blankets, to rip his right arm from its splint and seize the sword that was only two meters away.

Agony flared through him, and two meters was too far. Still he tried, angry and desperate and needing to have his hand on a weapon. He knew he was failing.

The small ball of fire disappeared in a blink, and then Merlin's hands were pressing gently into his shoulders, pushing him back against the cushions and holding him still.

"No, Arthur, stop, you're hurting yourself," he admonished softly. "You are in no condition to execute me right now. I'm afraid it will have to wait until you are stronger."

He smiled faintly, an ironic smile. "I can help you with that. I should have protected you earlier so that this wouldn't be necessary, but my hesitation cost you. I can't change what happened. But I can heal you."

Arthur tried to fight him, but he was utterly defenceless. Merlin was right – right now Arthur did not have the power, Merlin did. And there was nothing he could do about it.

"No – traitor – don't touch me – won't let you-"

His protests went unheeded as Merlin closed his eyes and steadied his breathing to concentrate.

Words began to pour from his mouth. Unfamiliar, dangerous, evil words that lingered in the air like a putrid smell.

He caught a flash of golden eyes, and then a rush of sensations flooded him, overwhelming in their intensity. He lost consciousness.

When awareness returned to him again, and the memories with it, Arthur thought that Merlin had knocked him out and used the time to escape from the castle and from Camelot.

A part of him hoped that it was true.

But he shifted slightly, and felt no pain at the movement. So he opened his eyes and stared up blankly at the canopy of his bed for a moment, then looked to the side.

Merlin was there.

Sitting in a chair that he must have pulled up so he could wait more comfortably.

Waiting for Arthur to wake up.

Not running for his life.

Not killing him while he slept.

Just waiting.

Just like the Merlin he knew.

He thought that maybe it had all been a dream, but bandages still covered him yet the pain was gone. Magic had healed him.

Swords and clubs and maces had hurt him, and magic had healed him.

Merlin had healed him.

Merlin had magic. Merlin was using magic.

Merlin was a traitor. Merlin had lied. Merlin was a sorcerer. Sorcerer's were evil.

Merlin was evil.

Merlin had healed him.

"Sorcerer," he spat.

"Actually, sire, I'm a warlock, not a sorcerer."

"Traitor."

"I have never done anything to harm you, your father, or this kingdom."

"Liar."

"I lied through omission. I did not tell you who I really was because I was afraid. But I wanted to, Arthur. Honestly I did. You're my best friend, and it hurt more than anything that I couldn't tell you."

_Friend._

The word was like ashes on his tongue.

Arthur started yelling. Accusing Merlin of being the one behind every evil that had assaulted Camelot since his arrival. Accusing him of committing every crime he could think of that involved betrayal and the use of magic.

Merlin stood there silently and let him rant until he ran out of breath and was gasping for air.

"My only crime, sire, is all too often _not_ using my powers. There were times that I could have destroyed an enemy marching for Camelot before they even arrived, but I hesitated because I did not my magic to be discovered. There were times when I could have felled a magical beast before you ever went out to fight it, but I hesitated because I did not want suspicion to fall on me. There were times when innocent people were dying of terrible illness and I hesitated because I thought it would be safer to wait until Gaius came up with a scientific cure.

"There were times, Arthur, when bandits would attack our patrol and I could have killed them all before they reached us, but I hesitated and let you and the knights fight them through ordinary means, suffering needless injury and death as a result. That is what happened a few days ago. I could have stopped the battle before it ever begun, but you would have seen me using magic, and I was afraid. So I let them come. I let you fight. I saw when five of them surrounded you, and I could have caused them to drop dead on the spot before they could so much as harm a single hair on your head. But I _hesitated_, because you looked at me and if I used my magic you would have known the truth.

"You have called me a coward many times, sire, and I realised today that it was true. I was being a coward, and endangering lives. Well, I won't any more. I _can't_ anymore. "

Arthur stared at him, his mind still struggling to make sense of these two conflicting images of Merlin as being the same person. Merlin, the bumbling servant who was barely competent at his job, entirely clumsy, completely stupid except for those rare moments where he was unaccountably wise, eternally cheerful, unquenchably friendly, and unceasingly loyal. Versus Merlin, the warlock, traitor, betrayer, terrifyingly powerful, able to destroy armies and fell beasts and heal illness and cause bandits to drop dead on the spot with just a few words and a golden flash in his eyes.

He realised, then, that he was pain-free and thus able to move on his own.

He jumped up from the bed and snatched his sword, holding it warily on Merlin who wasn't Merlin but was at the same time.

He thought he should say something. But he wasn't sure what.

"I am guilty of using magic," Merlin said quietly. "For all the times that I hesitated, there have been one hundred more where I took the action that was needed to save lives. I have used my magic to protect you and to defend Camelot. And maybe to help me complete my chores sometimes, but that just helps you too. I have never, and I would never, use my magic for anything else."

Blue eyes bored into him, searching for an answer inside his soul that Arthur didn't have yet. "But I would understand, sire," Merlin said after a moment, slowly and sadly, "if you cannot accept me."

Arthur's voice chose this moment to start working again. "Why?" he asked. "Why have you come forward now when you know the penalty?"

"Because I have great power, and with it comes great responsibility. Just as you and the knights have speed and strength and skill with weapons, I have magic. It is my duty to protect those who do not have magic, like you and your knights and the people of Camelot. I cannot afford to hesitate any longer when my hesitation could cost lives. I cannot stand to watch harm come to people I care about as I do nothing."

"But the use of magic is punishable by death," Arthur reminded him.

Merlin quirked a half smile. "My magic is a gift not granted to many," he said, and Arthur recognised the words as an echo of what Percival had said about his strength. "It is not just something I can use, it is not just a small part of me, it is what I _am_. If I cannot use my magic to protect people – to protect _you_ – then I might as well be dead anyway.

"I am giving you the choice, Arthur, at long last, and you may make the decision of your own free will. If you will not let me stay at your side, serving and defending you, then please, strike me down for my life will not be worth living. One thing you cannot do is ask me to deny my magic or to stop using it, because I am nothing without it – just a clumsy, worthless idiot who happens to be the worst servant in the five kingdoms. It is one thing to be seen by everyone that way, but I could not bear to live with myself if it were true."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he dropped submissively to his knees, bowing his head. "Command me, sire."

Arthur stood over him, sword in hand.

"Tell me," he said. "And answer truthfully. What is the one reason above all others why you have revealed your magic to me?"

Merlin looked up at him through eyes awash with unshed tears. "Because I nearly lost you, Arthur. Because I couldn't stand the thought of you dying. Because I could really use a friend right now, and my lies were hanging between us, keeping us apart." A tear escaped, slipping down his cheek. "I just… I didn't want to lie to you any longer. I wanted to tell you the truth, finally, and not have to hide anymore. I wanted you to know me for who I really am."

"And who are you?"

"Merlin. Emrys. Clumsy servant. Powerful warlock. Idiotic. Wise. Cowardly. Brave. Weak. Strong. Determined. Stubborn. Subservient. Insolent. Loyal. Dedicated. All of these, and more, but most of all, Arthur… I am your friend. Honestly and truly."

The conflicting images in his head meshed into one cohesive whole. The conflict had come from the assumption that magic was evil, and therefore Merlin was evil. But when Arthur accepted the idea that Merlin couldn't be evil after all, all the pieces just fit together.

And one thing stood out clearly.

Friend.

Arthur put the sword down, and crouched before his friend, tilting his head up so that their eyes met. "I believe you," Arthur said. "My friend."

Merlin smiled tremulously.

"And I want you to stay."

Merlin hesitated for just a moment, as though he feared that the words would be taken back.

But then he grinned, and Arthur punched him fondly in the shoulder.

"I don't even know what I'd do without you," Arthur admitted ruefully.

Merlin laughed at him through the tears. "You wouldn't last a day."

Arthur thought about that for a moment, and then laughed too. "You're probably right."


End file.
